Save You
by Just An Inkling
Summary: The three times Wally West made sure Dick Grayson lived to fight another day, and the one time he didn't have to. WARNING: Suicide fic(ish), modified 5-1 (3-1, because I am a rebellious moron and I don't like retconning things.)
1. Chapter 1

**********As requested by Becky Blue Eyes, an "all three of 'em" fic, as referenced in Failure to Thrive. For those of you who don't actually want to go find that one and figure out just what I'm talking about for yourselves:**

**_"Wally watched him brood for a long, silent minute before asking, 'You're wondering if Bruce hadn't been in the audience that night, if you would've made it.'_**

**_'Not exactly an if, but a when,' Dick sighed. 'You know what happened.'_**

**_'All three of 'em,' Wally confirmed unhappily. He glanced at Dick suspiciously. 'If you're thinking of trying again, I'd like to know now so I can tattle on you, asshat.'_**

**_Dick laughed hollowly, a breathy, half-hearted chuckle. 'You'll be the first person I call,' he said, looking up at Wally through a fringe of dark hair. 'Promise.'"_**

**So, this is going to be one of those "Five + One" things, except modified, because there's only three of them, and I'm not retconning in an extra two just for word count.**

**And on that note, on with the fic!**

* * *

_Save You_

_The First Time: Age 11_

The small alcove Dick had scraped out in the Batcave-"the Nest," Bruce called it sometimes-was starting to feel claustrophobic. Normally, the small corner closet was cozy, lined with newspaper clippings and pillows filched from the rest of the manor when Alfred wasn't looking, a few blankets and a large box of electronics components for fixing or building equipment. But tonight, Dick didn't feel comfortable anywhere-he felt like the walls were closing in on him, and he would do anything to make them stop.

The newspaper clippings on the walls were all happy, upbeat stories-people saved, crises averted, lives returned to some semblance of normal. But the clippings in the box on the floor next to him were heavier-failures, help come too late, accusations of helplessness and incompetency screaming up at him. The top-most article, dropped there seconds earlier, told of a group of young children, just younger than himself, and Gotham's heroes come too late to save them all from an overdose of Scarecrow's fear toxin. The one on the bottom of the pile, periodically shuffled to the top on nights like tonight, screamed "Flying Graysons killed in tragic accident-son left behind"!

Son left behind.

Dick felt his back press into the back corner of the room, rustling some of the clippings taped behind him. His throat was closing up, choking him as the sobs he'd been holding back for most of the night shoved forward, pressing against his lungs.

Batman had been away for days since their-_his_-failure, nearly a week of going over what he'd done wrong. He kept coming back to the same question, regardless of what avenue he kicked himself down:_ How is Bruce ever going to be able to keep me around when he_ knows_ I'm such a failure?_

A half-empty pill bottle, filched from the first aid table in the Batcave, sat on the other side of the clipping box from him on the floor of his closet-turned-hideout. The pain medication was still good, and there were more than thirty in the bottle-enough to kill him before anyone bothered to come looking for him.

Not that anyone would for quite a while, not for an inept kid trying to play superheroes on too big a scale, and failing miserably.

He reached for the bottle and his water bottle, unsure of what he was doing. He didn't want to die necessarily, there were things he'd _like_ to do with his life, but he could only see rejection when Bruce returned, and dying_ here_ of his own hand sounded a lot gentler than dying out in the street due to some random accident or twist of fate. Not that he'd have to wait long, if his incompetence in the realm of crime-fighting was anything to judge by.

Dick fumbled with the cap for a long, frustrating minute, before finally beating the childproof lock with a choked sob. His face was wet and itchy, and his chest and head hurt like hell from crying.

_I'm sorry, Bruce. I'm really sorry._

He shook a handful of pills into his palm, and missed. His trembling sent tiny blue capsules skittering everywhere across the concrete floor, rolling under pillows and behind the small bookcase in the opposite corner. A strangled, hiccuping sound ricocheted around the room, and it took Dick a minute to realize it came from him. He sat up on his knees, still shaking like a baby leaf in a hurricane, and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes to dry off his eyelashes so he could see enough to start gathering the pills again.

His cell phone rang, insistent and loud in the small space. Dick jumped, dropping his handful of retrieved pills to the ground again.

The screen lit up with the name Wally West, and a Keystone City area code. He squinted at it and tried to think for the space of another shrill ring-oh, right. _That_ Wally West, the Flash's protege. They'd exchanged numbers (in relative secrecy, for Dick) a few weeks before, but this was the first time Wally had called.

Dick didn't particularly want to answer, but what if something was wrong? What if he needed to contact the League, and didn't know how, so he called Dick instead? Hesitantly, he answered. "Yeah?"

"Dude, Flash's home again!"

Dick stilled, the occasional tremor sending shockwaves through his skinny frame. "...He is?"

"Yeah, the League's finally out of the Hall! Is Batman back yet?"

"I... I don't know. Haven't seen him yet, but he could be."_ Please don't be home, please don't be home, please don't be home._

Wally paused, and the silence sounded both concerned and disapproving. "You okay? You sound weird, man."

Dick sat back on his heels and switched the phone to his other ear. "Yeah, I'm fine," he muttered impatiently. If Bruce was going to be home soon, Dick was going to be home_less_ soon, unless he got off the phone and acted fast.

"You sure?"

"Yes, I'm just...coming down with something. Wet patrol night, it's probably just a cold."

Wally made a sympathetic sound in the back of his throat. "Augh, that sucks. Chicken soup and _Blade Runner_ for the weekend?"

Dick choked on a lump in his throat._ I don't think chicken soup is going to help any_, he thought. "Yeah. Sure. Chicken soup."

"Or, my mom makes this _really good_ veggie soup when I'm sick. I could run a thing of it over, if you wanted? I'm sure she wouldn't mind, I mean, it takes_ literally_ fifteen minutes to make and I could be...wherever you are in probably thirty or forty, I mean, I can get to either coast within an hour. So it's really not a problem if you want me to bring you some-"

"Wally," Dick said, curling into a hunched position to relieve some of the pressure on his lower back. "You really don't have to bring me anything. I'm fine, it's just a cold. I get them all the time."

"Mm. Well, okay, if you're sure. But if you need anything, just gimme a call, okay? Hey, are you_ sure_ Batman isn't back yet? Unc- Flash said Batman left before him, said something about making sure you weren't feeling any adverse affects from... Shoot, what'd he say- Cowardly Lion's something-or-other."

"Scarecrow's fear toxin," Dick said, struggling to keep his tone neutral. He started picking up pills again with his free hand and dropping them back in the bottle to keep them from rolling away again. "I got a little bit before I got my mask on, yeah. Not much."

"Well, maybe that's why you're feeling sick. Weirdo side effects or whatever."

"Maybe," Dick muttered.

Wally paused, and put his hand over the phone to yell something. "Sorry, my mom's calling me down for dinner. You take care of yourself, okay?_ Sleep_. Take a day. It's good for you."

"Yeah," Dick said, unable to keep himself from choking up. He cleared his throat and tried to make it sound like a hacking cough as best he could. "Yeah, thanks. You...too, I guess."

"Kay. You wanna get together and hang out sometime? I have this crazy awesome new video game that just came in the mail today, if you wanted to come over sometime and help me break it in?"

"I... I'll see what Batman says," Dick stammered.

A faint thumping from Wally's end of the conversation interrupted him. "Coming! Sorry, gotta go. I'll call you later, okay?"

"Yeah," Dick said quietly._ I'm not going to be here to answer, but you can call all you want._

"Cool. Later." The phone clicked, and Dick had just enough time to close it and set it down behind a stack of pillows before a gentle knock on his door brought him scrambling around, trying to find all the pills he'd dropped. "What?"

"Hey, kiddo, it's me," Bruce said through the door. "Am I allowed?"

Heart pounding, Dick reached up and twisted the doorknob, letting it fall free of the door frame. Bruce pulled it open the rest of the way, and sank into a crouch in the space the door left. "Sorry I was gone so long, the Green Lanterns were having one of their married-couple arguments and_ the entire League_ was needed to mediate." He shook his head. "Sometimes I question our membership roster. Most of the time, I question our membership roster."

Dick forced a tiny, nervous laugh. He did his best to push the still-open pill bottle behind a pillow to hide it, but Bruce caught the movement anyway. He reached over Dick's arm and grabbed the bottle.

"Dick, what's this?"

"I... I have a headache."

Bruce frowned. "Dick. These aren't aspirin. They're for extreme pain _only_, they're addictive. You shouldn't have even been able to _get_ to these."

"They were out on top of the box, and it's a _bad_ headache."

With one surprisingly fluid motion, Bruce re-situated himself so he was sitting with his back leaning against the door frame and pulled Dick closer with one large, gentle hand. His other palm stretched out and slid across Dick's face, wiping at the residual moisture on the boy's cheekbones. He glanced around, and found the box of newspaper clippings, with the three-year-old headline announcing the Graysons' death sitting on top.

"Well, for starters," Bruce said, reaching out for the lid of the shoebox, "emotional stress doesn't help with headaches at all." He reached around Dick and gathered up the few stray pills hiding under the nest of pillows, dropping them neatly into the bottle again. He kept one in his palm, and held it out to Dick. "So how about _one_ of these, and we head upstairs and find a movie to watch before bed?"

Dick took the lone pill and swallowed it with a sip from his water bottle before nodding. "Sounds good," he said, trying not to let the uncertainty hanging on him unbalance his fragile standing with Bruce. He didn't..._act_ like he was going to kick him out, but...

Bruce helped him stand before maneuvering himself to his knees in front of him. "Hey," he said gently, "I don't think I got a chance to tell you before I had to leave. You handled yourself really well with that Scarecrow rescue. That really didn't go the way it was supposed to, but neither of us could've expected that. You handled it very well, and I want you to know I'm proud of you, okay?"

Dick sniffled and pressed his luck by ducking in close for a clingy, rather damp hug. Bruce wrapped his arms around him and squeezed, tight and warm and safe.

"Do you just want to go to bed," Bruce asked into his hair after a long, silent minute.

He nodded-he felt exhausted in ways he didn't know he could be exhausted, and Wally _had_ suggested sleeping it off. The single painkiller already felt heavy in his system, and he yawned widely against Bruce's grey training t-shirt. Bruce's arms shifted, and suddenly he was airborn, held up against Bruce's shoulder as he walked for the elevator.

He was asleep before they got halfway across the training floor.

* * *

**So, part one of four, the next will be up...whenever I feel like it. Which could be soon, I do have Thanksgiving break this week and the family I'm spending it with is _nuts_. But I digress. **


	2. Chapter 2

******Here we are, part 2 of 3 (and one bonus)! Enjoy, folks!  
**

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_Save You_

_The Second Time: Age 14_

Star City at night was the polar opposite of Gotham-all lights and noise and movement, shadows few and far between. Where blending in around Gotham meant moving slowly and keeping to the blindspots, blending in around Star City was all about "becoming one with the blur", as Roy had said once. The more color and movement, the better.

Dick slid around a couple walking hand in hand down the sidewalk and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his new sweatshirt (a brilliant, if somewhat stiff, souvenir Green Arrow hoodie, bought with cash withdrawn in Gotham, just to be safe). He retraced the map he'd studied earlier that night in his mind, his feet carrying him around the corner on the sidewalk.

He'd only been to the Star City bridge once, and that had been only a split second in a flying motorcycle chase with Roy and a couple of drug runners. But it was familiar, nonetheless, and Dick felt like if he was going to do something stupid tonight, Star City felt like the right place to do it.

One hand slid into the pocket of his jeans, wrapping loosely around the cell phone he didn't know why he'd grabbed on his way out of the Batcave. He hunched his shoulders and slid through the pedestrian crowd like it was water, leading first with one shoulder and then the other. He picked up snatches of conversation as he walked, people laughing and gossiping and giving friendly (if ill-conceived) advice. It only served to make him feel more lonely.

Sure, Dick had friends-Babs and Bette and Artemis, sometimes, and on the odd Saturday his fellow Mathletes were polite if a little chilly-and Robin had friends-the Team and some of the League when they felt like dealing with "the kids" and Roy, on the infrequent occasions that Dick called him to hang out-but no one had been around for a while, and between the insomnia and the irrational loneliness and the fear of not being _enough_ that never went away after the first time, Dick couldn't find any better course of action to withdraw. He curled in on himself, around the black, all-consuming waking nightmares that clung to him like blood to the skin around a wound.

He felt his hands press against the railing of the bridge and blinked, suddenly finding himself looking out at the inky harbor. Sighing, he boosted himself up to sit on the railing with his back pressed against a support beam, one foot dangling on either side of the red metal beam.

His cell phone surfaced out of his pocket, and he flipped it around idly before drawing it out of sleep mode. A lone text message from Wally-several days earlier, and Dick hadn't answered-was all that was waiting from him.

_What if... Maybe I should say goodbye to_ somebody,_ just in case_, he thought, chewing on his lip. He slid his thumb across the text box to pull up the keyboard, the pads of his thumbs hovering above the screen.

_Hey, Wally. I'm not sure I'm going to be around, but just in case, I wanted to say thank you for having my back. You didn't really have to, most of the time, and I'm sure you didn't really want to sometimes, but... Just, thank you. Goodbye. _

He hit Send and slid the phone back in his pocket. The leg hanging on the bridge side of the railing came up, the sole of his shoe resting flat on the metal. No one gave him a second glance.

Dick scrubbed a hand over his face-he was so tired, and sleeping at the bottom of Star City's harbor sounded like the best sleep he could ask for. With any luck, Batman would get held up with something for a few days, enough time for his body to wash out into the Pacific a bit.

_What if he sends Aquaman after you? Or Kaldur comes looking for you? _

Dick paused. The thought of either possibility sent a shiver through him that nearly knocked him off the railing on its own. _Maybe I should go back to Plan B_, he thought. The fear of someone finding him was what had brought him to the bridge, but maybe even drowning couldn't save him from disappointing everyone.

As usual, Dick Grayson was a failure at everything, including his own demise.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and reluctantly he pulled it out to check. Wally was calling-that was odd, Wally usually responded to a text with a text. He waited for the third ring before answering. _Why the fuck not_. "Hello?"

"Dick, what's going on?"

Startled by Wally's tone, Dick threw his leg back to the other side of the railing, so he was straddling it again. "I... What makes you think something's up?"

"Your text. Something didn't sound right. You need backup? I'm out of the house right now, just tell me where you are, and I'm there."

Dick was apparently silent for too long of a minute, because Wally continued, "Dick, c'mon, gimme something. Are you hurt? Do I need to call the League?"

At the mention of the League, Dick flinched. "No, don't! Don't... Don't call the League. Please."

"Well then_ tell me where the fuck you are,_ because you _clearly_ need backup," Wally snapped. Even through the anger, Dick could hear the faintest tremor of worry. His chest constricted uncomfortably.

"I'm really sorry, Wally. I'm really, really sorry. I just... I just can't anymore, okay?"

"Dude, don't tell me that. Don't- Dick, c'mon. Please. Tell me you aren't... You aren't going to do something to hurt yourself right now, right?" Wally's voice pitched up at the end, and Dick could hear the beginnings of panic.

"Don't tell the League," Dick begged, his throat closing up and his eyes starting to burn. "Please, don't tell."

"Then tell me where you are. Please," Wally said. "Otherwise, I'm going to have to radio Uncle Barry and ask him to track you, and then I'm going to have to explain _why_. Okay? C'mon, Dick, I'll be there in minutes, and I'll help you. We'll get through this."

"This isn't like last time, Wally, I- I just can't do this anymore. It's better this way, I promise."

"That is bullshit and you know it, and what 'last time'?"

Dick froze. He hadn't meant to give away so much, and people were starting to look at him as they passed.

"Oh my god, this isn't the first time you've tried, is it."

"...No," Dick choked out. The loneliness was too much, and Wally was right there, he'd come if Dick asked him to-

No. Stop it. It was better this way, he needed to take away the threat to the Team, to the League. He was a liability, a distraction. He needed to go.

"Dick, I want to help you right now. I will be there as fast as physically possible if you just tell me where 'there' is. Please, man, give me something-a street, a city, a landmark, anything. Please."

Before he could stop himself, Dick blurted out, "Star City bridge, just past the second support beam."

"Thank you. Don't move," Wally breathed, before the whistling of rushing air blocked out all other sound. Dick hung up and tucked his phone back in his pocket.

_You just made a huge mistake,_ he berated himself. _Wally's going to tell everyone that you're crazy, that you should be taken off of hero duty, Bruce is going to throw you out, just_ jump_, you pathetic-_

"Dick!"

He turned sharply-it wasn't Wally, but it was definitely a familiar voice, and definitely a redhead jaywalking across the bridge to get to him. "...Roy?"

Roy crossed the sidewalk in one long stride and clamped a hand down on his upper arm. The grip wasn't uncomfortable, but Dick had no illusions that he was going anywhere while Roy was hanging on. "Wally radioed," Roy said quietly, leaning close. Unmasked, Roy's eyes were a clear, expressive blue-grey, and right now they were as sad and concerned as Dick had ever seen them. "C'mon, let's hop down off that railing, yeah? I think the cops give tickets for that sort of thing."

Dick didn't move, terror shuttering his conscious thought to a basic mantra of_ no no no, have to get away, they can't know_. His vision swam and darkened without consistent oxygen, and he felt dizzy. Without warning, Roy reached across to the leg hanging off the bridge and pulled it back over the railing.

"Okay, you can stay there, but how about we compromise on this, huh? I would really really appreciate not having to do a Kaldur imitation and dive in after you tonight, okay?"

A blur sped to a stop a few feet to Roy's left. He jogged over, green eyes wide with worry. "Dick, c'mere," he said breathlessly, ducking around Roy's grip to secure his own around Dick's waist. "C'mon, man, don't do this," he muttered, his hip pressed against Dick's thigh. "Please."

Dick struggled to breathe through the pressure in his chest, each deep breath releasing as a hiccuping sob. "Don't hate me," he pleaded, leaning forward against Wally's shoulder. Roy's hands loosened but didn't let go, and shifted to the side.

"Never," Roy said. with a nameless sort of hard conviction, and without really knowing how, Dick was on his feet on the sidewalk again. Wally let go just enough to shift his hold to a side hug around his friend's shoulders. Roy gestured to a car parked along the opposite side of the bridge, an old beater of a Honda. "Let's get you two back to my place, we don't need to hash this out here."

"Sounds good. I'm freezing," Wally said, and without looking Dick could tell Wally was pointing meaningfully at him. He shrugged it off-he was really too tired to care anymore, and Roy's hand on his back and Wally's arms around his shoulders felt so good he wanted to cry.

"I'm sorry," he muttered again as Roy pushed his head down and into the car.

**"You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for," Wally said, sliding into the backseat from the other side. "Absolutely nothing, got it?" **

* * *

**I have absolutely no idea when the next one will be up. Rule number one of working at a pizza place (which I do), never give your customers a delivery estimate. You will probably be wrong.**


	3. Chapter 3

******Part 3 of 3 (and one bonus)! Enjoy, folks!  
**

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_Save You_

_The Second Time: Age 18_

His apartment was cold when he muscled the door open, shoving on it with his sore shoulders when it got stuck in the door frame. A dusting of snow was starting to melt in his hair, and his uniform was damp from the snow drift he'd landed in several hours earlier. Dick took as deep a breath as he could manage before his cracked ribs protested, and shivered hard enough to aggravate every sore muscle in his body.

The window was cracked open, just enough for an arm to fit through from the fire escape. Dick couldn't remember if he'd left it that way or if someone had opened it after he left for his second patrol of the night, and honestly he couldn't muster up enough energy to care. He hauled himself back to the bedroom and found his lamp on, illuminating a pair of track pants and a t-shirt laid out on the bed with a folded piece of paper.

_You needed groceries. If you get back before I do, take a shower and do something about the inevitable bruising from that beat-down at the hospital. We need to talk._  
_-Wally_

_P.S. Seriously, if the expiration date is before you graduated high school, THROW IT OUT._

Dick pulled his mask off and scrubbed a hand over his face. After six years and one very uncomfortable debrief regarding his past suicide attempts, Wally had learned to interpret the periodic radio silences and emotional withdrawals with a reasonable degree of accuracy. He grabbed the dry clothing and a towel off the shelf in his closet and stumbled to the bathroom, peeling off layers of kevlar and spandex as he went.

Morbid curiosity struck him as he was waiting for the water to heat up, and he twisted as much as he could manage to see the bruising in the mirror. It was already starting to bloom, yellow and purple and black and green radiating off his shoulder blades. He relaxed with a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping as he leaned against the counter. He looped the towel over the bar and tossed his dry clothes on the toilet seat before ducking around the shower curtain.

For a long time - maybe an hour, maybe all night, for all he cared - Dick stood under the shower head, leaning heavily on the tiled wall to keep his weight off the aching, oozing bullet wound to his left hip from a couple nights before. He closed his eyes and focused on the tactile sensation of water over his skin, trying desperately to hang onto reality around him.

A knock on the bathroom door startled him upright, eyes snapping open like waking up from a nightmare. "Dick? Still alive," Wally's voice called through the door.

"Yeah," Dick called back, his voice scratched and strained. "Yeah, I'm here." He shut off the water and reached for his towel, his feet curling on the ragged bath mat as he went from the cloud of steam to the cold air left from the open window. With stiff, pained jerks, Dick pulled on a pair of boxers and the track pants. He stared at the t-shirt for a long, conflicted moment before tossing it onto his towel heaped in the corner - the thought of stretching it over his head was offensive.

Wally was leaning against the wall when Dick stepped out of the bathroom. He held two steaming mugs, one balanced in each hand, and a quick breath through his nose told Dick that they were hot cocoa _- taking a page from Alfred's playbook, I see. Well then._

"I found Alfred's recipe card on the fridge," Wally explained, handing him the mug with the Scrabble R tile printed on it. "I figured it'd be a good idea, given the night you've had."

Dick took a sip to avoid answering, and let the taste roll around in his mouth for a second before swallowing. Perfect temperature, perfect blend of spices and sweet milk and melted dark chocolate - if he closed his eyes and pretended hard enough, he could imagine he was back home again. "Don't you have a girlfriend somewhere, why are you propositioning me with hot chocolate," he joked weakly.

"Artemis says hi, by the way," Wally said, following Dick out into the living room. "She wants to know why you quit calling. Says she misses your stupid voice."

"I've been busy," Dick exhaled, lowering himself to the couch. The window was closed and the thermostat turned up, and when Dick glanced into the kitchen, a wad of rust brown-stained paper towels were sitting forgotten on the counter. "You vibrated through my door, didn't you."

"The things you drive me to, asshat," the 20-year-old grumbled without malice. "You wanna tell me what's been going on lately?"

"No," Dick offered blankly, curling around his mug in a defensive hunch. "Really, can't say that I do."

"Tough, you're going to anyway," Wally pushed. "Dick, I _watched you_ tonight. Stuck around long enough to make sure the police showed up, and then I came here. I _nearly_ jumped in to save your ass - you were _barely_ putting up a fight back there, it was actually scary."

Dick shifted uncomfortably and said nothing.

Wally leaned forward. "Do you remember last time? How scared Roy and I were of losing you out on that bridge?" When Dick didn't acknowledge him, Wally slid closer on the couch. "Cause I do. I remember almost losing my best friend out there, and there wouldn't have been a damn thing I could've done to save you. And lemme tell you, it _sucks_, to know that you might be too late. You might get there three seconds after he lets go, and there isn't a damn thing you can do about it."

"I'm _sorry_, okay," Dick snapped, curling away from him. "It's not exactly like I'm choosing to be this way for kicks."

"And I'm not saying you are," Wally soothed. "But seriously? I don't want you to feel like you need to fight this by yourself. I'm here for you, Bruce is here for you, Alfred is here for you, Tim and the Team and the rest of the League if you need them,_ we are all here for you_. And when you go all radio silence on us, on _me_ especially, it's goddamn terrifying, you know? Because what if I do decide to check up on you, and I'm two seconds too late? I don't want you to feel like this is just your fight, like you can't call in backup, okay?"

Dick rolled his shoulders in a shrug and tucked his mug closer to his sternum, feeling the warmth drift up toward his face. "Yeah, but it_ is_ my fight," he insisted sullenly. "It shouldn't_ be_ anyone else's problem."

"No, see," Wally said, leaning over and setting his mug on the floor. "I know you can't see this right now, but _we love you_. The Team, the League, Alfred, Babs, Bruce, we _all_ love you. Okay, look at it like this. How many times have we saved each others' asses in the field? More than either of us care to count, right?"

Dick nodded, staring at him over the rim of his mug.

"And the Team. Artemis and Kaldur and M'gann and Connor and Garfield, they'd all have your back in a firefight, no questions asked, right? You trust them to stick close and cover your blind spots, right?"

Dick nodded again and took a slow sip from his mug.

"So why would this be any different? Why would we all just suddenly_ leave_ you in the middle of a fight, because this is a little different from the fights we're used to?"

"I dunno," Dick sighed, slumping against Wally's shoulder. "I just... I know I'm a liability when I get like this. I don't want to get anyone else hurt."

Wally snorted. "Yeah. Sure. You, a liability. Dude, you are the _least_ liability-ish person I know. Seriously."

Dick stayed limp and silent against Wally's shoulder for a long minute, mug balanced on his kneecap with one hand. "...Think Bruce would totally disown me, if I told him about this? I mean, hypothetically speaking."

"Dunno, you know the man better than I do. I doubt it'd be negative, though." Wally nudged Dick off him so he could lean over for his own rapidly cooling mug. "You could always ask Alfred for his expert opinion. Y'know, baby steps."

"You're insane. You're _actually_ certifiable."

Wally chuckled. "Alright, alright. Smaller than baby steps. Um. Cell mitosis? Youuuu could tell Kaldur. Kaldur's safe, right?"

"...I don't know."

"Dude, the most Kaldur would do is check in with you once a week, make sure you weren't stashing razors or pills in your utility belt."

"Think he'd tell Canary?"

"Not if you don't want him to. He's a big boy now, all grown-up and leader-y. He doesn't go running to her about _everything_."

"...This is pretty big."

Wally sighed and reached over to slide a hand through Dick's still-damp hair. "Yeah, it is. But if you don't want him to tell, and he doesn't think you're an immediate danger to yourself, he's going to keep his mouth shut. I mean, I have, against my better judgment sometimes."

Dick drained his mug and rested it on his knee again, fingers curled around the residual warmth. "Hey, Wally?"

"Mm?"

"Can I tell you something?"

"Shoot."

"...I've been planning."

To his credit, Wally only glanced over at the head leaning against his t-shirt, eyebrows tilting up toward his hairline with concern. "When?"

"Probably next Tuesday."

"Any special reason?"

Dick shrugged. "Next Tuesday felt like a good day for it."

Wally shifted and wrapped an arm around Dick's bare, bruised shoulders and leaned his cheek against the damp head of hair brushing his neck. "How're you gonna do it?"

"I have a capsule of Joker venom left over from an Arkham break about a year ago. Make it look like a Joker attack, maybe... Maybe Bruce wouldn't hate me for it."

"He wouldn't hate you. I don't think it's possible for him to hate you. You might kill him, he might spend the rest of his life seeking vengeance for your, quote-unquote, murder, but he wouldn't hate you." Wally hugged him as tightly as Dick's bruises would allow, and Dick cautiously slid his arms around Wally's waist, terrified at how appreciative he was of the physical contact. "Hey, Dick?"

"Huh?"

"Thanks for telling me. Really."

Dick turned his head so his forehead was pressed into Wally's shoulder and squeezed his eyes shut, all the guilt and the fear and the _you shouldn't have told him, he's going to rat you out because you're nuts_ pressing on the inside of his ribcage, trying to break free.

"You mind if I stay tonight?" When Dick didn't answer, Wally pushed his head up as gently as he could manage and used the arm around Dick's back to pull him up off the couch. "C'mon, bedtime. It's been a long night."

"Can't sleep," Dick muttered, halfway embarrassed to admit it.

"Doesn't matter, just laying down is good for healing bruises." Wally shepherded him toward the bedroom and grabbed the note on the nightstand as Dick slid into bed. "And, tomorrow? We're going to have a talk about grocery shopping. Seriously, if a can of soup is more than eighteen months old,_ throw it away._ Good lord." He flicked off the lamp and wandered out through the path of light to the door. "I'll be on the couch, come wake me up if you need to. Night.**__****" **

* * *

**And that's the last "official" one-next up is our +1, and then this shindig is all wrapped up!**


End file.
